


Between Cream Thighs

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cock & Ball Torture, Improvised Sex Toys, Light BDSM, M/M, Paddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 00:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: After weeks apart, Otabek knows exactly how to welcome Victor home.





	Between Cream Thighs

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of companion piece to [Between Hips and Ribs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11895459) \-- What do Victor and Otabek do once they're reunited after an extended stay in Hasetsu?
> 
> Still recovering from ADKOC with these little blips <3 Thanks y'all for so much enthusiasm. It's enlivening <3

Victor and Otabek entered the apartment to find their boys fast asleep on the couch. 

Yuuri was on his back, knees splayed wide apart, one up against the back of the couch while the other hung lazily over the side. Yuri was snoozing on top of him, cheek pillowed on Yuuri’s sternum, hair tucked under Yuuri’s chin. At some point they must have been covered by the throw blanket, but now it pooled on the floor, doing nothing to hide the scandalous view between Yuri’s legs. His cock was soft but pulled taut, tethered inside Yuuri’s tiny, tight asshole. 

Otabek let out a soft snort, arm catching on Victor’s waist to direct his attention to the scene.

“Well what did we miss?” Victor chuckled, kicking off his shoes. Otabek’s eyes ran over the two bodies, somehow angelic even in their erotic disarray. 

“They had to catch up,” Otabek mused, leading Victor through the open doorway that connected their two apartments. 

“Mmm,” Victor agreed, sneaking one last look before he was surrounded by the austere aesthetic of Otabek’s living room. They dropped their supplies off in the kitchen; they could transfer them to Victor and Yuuri’s kitchen sometime tomorrow, when their cubs weren’t fast asleep mid-coitus. For now, they stowed the perishables, and then Otabek laid his hands on Victor’s hips, drawing him towards the bedroom. 

Victor was very familiar with Otabek and Yuri’s bedroom. 

He was familiar with the way Otabek’s hands felt as they started to undress him, button by button. 

He was familiar with the heat of Otabek’s chest against his back, the place where Otabek’s mouth lined up on his shoulder, the sting of Otabek’s teeth. 

“How do you want me?” Victor whispered. 

Their heights made it different than when Otabek was with Yuri. With Yuri, Otabek would have drawn him into his lap, spread his legs, and worked between them. Victor was too tall to fit in the concavity of Otabek’s lap and chest, but there were always other options.

Otabek went to his desk, hand anchored on Victor’s hips to bring the elder skater with him. Otabek took the laptop stand and picture frame from the otherwise empty desk and set them on the floor beside it. 

“Lay out there. I’ll get you a pillow.”

On a desk? Victor had never done that before. He felt a little thrill. 

“Naked?” 

Otabek grabbed one of the small side pillows that should have been on their chaise, but Yuri always kicked them off when he laid down. He scooped it off the floor. 

“Yes.”

Victor made quick but careful work of his remaining clothes. He caught the waist of his briefs on his thumbs and slid them down. As he stepped out, his hand rested on the stained mahogany of the desk, distressed from years of use and transfer between Altins. Despite appearances, the texture was smooth beneath his palms and knees when he climbed up. Otabek tucked the pillow beneath his head as he settled on his back, testing the desk’s bounds. Victor scooted until his knees were over the edge, forelegs hanging down, comfortable. 

Above him, Otabek stood still, not making any motion save for the slow roving of his eyes over Victor’s skin. Contemplating. Evaluating. Deciding exactly what he was going to do to Victor’s body. 

Despite the electric zing of Otabek’s presence, Victor forced himself to breathe, steady and easy, beneath that gaze. Otabek always took his time. 

When Otabek finally touched him, Victor’s skin had cooled - he was almost cold - and Otabek’s pocket-warmed hand felt like a flare when it grasped Victor’s shoulder. The flesh dimpled as Victor shivered. 

“I want to hurt you tonight,” Otabek said, feeling the lance of tightness his words drove down Victor’s spine. “Not too much.” 

Victor’s feet curled into points and then relaxed. He nodded to Otabek, eyes riveted to his calm countenance. 

“How?” Victor asked, voice soft. 

Otabek walked around the desk until he was between Victor’s knees, fingers resting on the caps: one bare, one cradled in KT tape. He widened them, spreading Victor’s legs to look at his partner’s center. Victor’s balls rested heavily on the wood of his desk, half-hard cock crooked over them. 

“Have you ever had these hurt?” Otabek asked, fingertips tickling the sac up until he could cup the eggs in his palm. He squeezed - pleasurable at first, the twitch of Victor’s dick testament to the fact, and then less so. Victor made a face as it grew uncomfortable, then gasped:

“Yellow, yellow,” Victor begged, and Otabek went no further, just maintained the same pressure until Victor finally settled. 

He released, letting the trapped testes slip down to the wood. 

Victor melted back against the table. 

“Arms back. Grab the edge of the desk,” Otabek said. Victor reached behind his head, grasping the beveled wood. “Good. Now butterfly.”

He left Victor like that, exposed, legs a beautiful diamond on the desk, as he rummaged beneath the bed. 

Victor shifted his muscles, flexing in place as the tension of the pose set in. It wasn’t terribly strenuous, but any position, held long enough, became a task. 

“How are you feeling?” Otabek asked as he returned to the desk. 

“Excited,” Victor said. “A little nervous. I hope I can handle it.” 

Otabek’s eyes softened, fingers stroking through Victor’s hair. “I’m going to go slow. I’m going to use a tongue depressor. Don’t be ashamed if you can’t handle it. OK?” 

Victor let out a breath. He smiled up to Otabek: “OK.”

Otabek’s hand left Victor’s scalp with a final, tender scratch, then picked up the flat bit of wood. 

“I’m going to start on your thighs,” Otabek said, smoothing the area with his hand first, then the wooden stick. Victor nodded again, and his cock pumped with blood, hardening up from his balls to bounce against his thigh and finally come to rest, still twitching, on his stomach. 

“Do you want me to hit your cock, too?” Otabek asked. 

Victor’s fingers curved, scratching at the bevel. “OK.”

“OK,” Otabek agreed, and the wooden flat brushed into Victor’s inner thigh. Victor’s cock twitched again, clear bead growing on the tip, as Otabek angled the depressor to its side. He used the edge like a blade to glide into the crease of Victor’s thigh, like carving drumsticks from the body of a bird. 

“Nn.” The thin wood pressed into that vulnerable weak point. Victor’s knees jumped off the desk in a brief, reflexive flutter of self protection. 

“Keep your legs open, Vika,” Otabek said, tone nowhere near as stern as what he used with Yuri, but assertive, strong, more than enough for Victor to know Otabek was in charge. “I can’t hurt you unless you stay open.” 

Victor nodded. His cock lurched, and Otabek dragged the blade of the tongue depressor between Victor’s balls, separating them to either side. When he reached the root of Victor’s cock he turned it flat again, tapping ever so lightly. 

Victor swallowed.

“Will you let me come?” 

“Tonight?”

“Mm.”

Otabek didn’t respond, just pet Victor’s forehead and then brought the wooden stick down - harder now - against Victor’s thigh. 

The sting was more surprising than painful, making Victor jump and then force his legs down again. There wasn’t much time to relax. Otabek repeated the strike, a few fingers closer to the crux of Victor’s body. Then again, closer still. 

“How’s that?” Otabek asked. “Good for your warmup?” 

Victor’s mouth opened but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Otabek moved to the other thigh.

“Vika?”

“Yes,” Victor gasped, ass clenching against the wood.

“Good. Relax if you can,” Otabek encouraged, setting his free hand on Victor’s tight abdomen to steady him. He could feel the almost involuntary jerks of muscle, the war between Victor’s conscious desire to play and his unconscious instinct to evade the pain.

The cords of Victor’s biceps tightened as the hits kept coming. He’d adapted to the sting, those sharp sensations rhythmic and entrancing, but the heat kept growing. Victor’s goosebumps disappeared under Otabek’s ministrations, replaced by the smallest dusting of sweat. 

“I’m going to go harder, OK?” Otabek asked, rubbing his thumb over Victor’s abs. 

Victor’s head tilted back into the pillow, sucking in a breath of air. 

“OK,” Victor gasped. “Please.”

His inner thighs were pink, and the next three hits on either side burned bright and raw. 

Just when Victor opened his mouth, Otabek softened the hits, tapping the tongue depressor on his taint. 

Victor whimpered.

“Do I — should I count?” He rasped. 

“No. Not today. It’s OK,” Otabek said. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Victor whimpered, but the teal of his eyes blazed as he stared up at Otabek. His toes curled, touching together in his butterfly, and his hips lifted towards the next strike. However exhausted Victor was, he’d decided _this_ was more important.

Otabek’s lip ticked up. He wanted to kiss the corner of Victor’s eye, but instead he increased the pressure of his hand on Victor’s abdomen and gave his sac a sturdy smack. 

Victor yelped. 

“Shhh, Vika,” Otabek said. “Don’t wake the cubs.” 

Victor nodded silently, eyes and ass both cinching tight. 

Another strike. 

“I can’t! Ota - Otabekenka—” Victor melted into Russian, soft pleas in his native tongue as he looked up at his leather-decked lover.

“A little more,” Otabek soothed, moving up the shaft, each strike delicate. 

“Please,” Victor whimpered. 

Otabek’s hand covered the taut, arching flesh of Victor’s cock. His fingers curled around it, felt the pleasure ready to spring. 

“Say again,” Otabek murmured, bending over the desk to place his ear near Victor’s mouth. 

“Please,” Victor whispered. 

“Again.” 

Victor whimpered, head lifting to nuzzle his nose against Otabek’s cheek. 

“Please,” he echoed.

Otabek started to stroke. The relief washed through Victor like diving into a cool pool. 

“Yes,” Victor’s voice took on a higher pitch, a breathy quality. “Yes -” 

“I want you to tell me before you come,” Otabek said. “You’re going to drink it for me. Keep everything clean.” 

Victor gave another little nod, pulling on the desk. 

“Almost,” Victor grunted, each word strained through the quick pump of Otabek’s palm. “Close.” He keened: “ _Now_.”

Otabek dropped his tool in favor of cupping his hand under and around the head of Victor’s cock. It was warm and wet and Otabek brought it to Victor’s lips before it had any chance to cool. 

“Sit up, Vika,” Otabek urged, free hand wrapping at Victor’s shoulders and helping him prop on his elbows. Victor opened his mouth, took the treat over his tongue and down his throat and licked Otabek’s palm clean. 

Then exhaustion hit again. He fell back onto the pillow, eyes closing. 

“Vika,” Otabek said. “Come on. To bed.” 

If it had been Yuri, he would have carried him, but instead he slid his arm under Victor’s shoulders again. He helped him sit up, wiggle out of his stretch, and then supported Victor as he stood. 

“Thank you,” Victor murmured as he leaned on Otabek, each step so slow. 

“Are you OK?” 

Victor nodded, following Otabek’s lead to the kitchen. Otabek held Victor with one arm, the other pulling down a glass, opening the fridge. 

“Juice is in our fridge,” Victor gave an exhausted smile. 

“ _Your_ juice,” Otabek corrected, withdrawing a carton and pouring the purple-pink contents into the glass. “Try.” 

He held the glass up to Victor’s lips, watched the bob of his swallow.

“Better than cum,” Victor said, managing to smirk despite his sleepiness.

“Low bar?” Otabek asked. 

“It’s not bad,” Victor smiled. “But it’s not about the taste…” 

Otabek led Victor to his bed, laid him down and tucked him in before stripping down to join him. The empty glass glimmered on the nightstand until Otabek flicked off the lights. As the darkness blanketed them, Victor curled into Otabek’s arms. They were sturdy as rock, warm and protective and soothing. Victor felt Otabek’s hand between his thighs, petting the inflamed skin. 

“Good to be home?” Otabek whispered against Victor’s temple. 

Victor smiled, sighed: “Yeah.”


End file.
